Revenge of the Genius Baby
by opalish
Summary: Sam, McKay, three tall, handsome, muscular nannies, and a baby destined to become a socially inept, emotionally stunted supergenius. Why yes, this is SamMcKay. Ish.


Disclaimer: SG-1 and SGA are so, so not mine.

All I can do is apologize profusely.

00oo00oo00oo00oo00

For months, Sam's imagined this moment with a grimace and a cringe. In her imagination, she's always been there to meet him as he gets off the Daedalus; she tells him what happened over dinner, and he's suitably shocked and high-pitched and offensive and, well, _McKay_.

Then he turns up on her doorstep during one of Cameron's trying-desperately-to-become-original-SG-1-by-osmosis sessions (cleverly disguised as poker and pizza night), and she answers the door with a gurgling baby cradled to her shoulder and shit, this isn't how it's supposed to happen.

McKay blinks, opens his mouth, closes it, and blinks again. "You spawned," he finally croaks, and it's obvious that he doesn't for a second consider the possibility that the gurgling spawnling in question could be a result of their Tryst-Never-To-Be-Mentioned-Again-Upon-Pain-Of-Being-Repeatedly-Shot-In-Tender-Places. She winces and begins to explain, but he barely lets her get a word out, just starts talking very fast. "Of course you spawned; your genes are practically a national resource and it's not like you wouldn't have suitable potential fathers lining up around the block - "

"McKay," Sam says, thinking _suitable potential fathers?!_, and when he keeps babbling she repeats his name a little more sharply. He falls silent, looking distinctly sullen, until she adds, "Congratulations, it's a girl."

His brow furrows in confusion, and really, considering he might just be the smartest man currently on earth, he isn't too bright. She wonders what that says about males as a whole, when a little voice in the back of her mind points out that for a genius, she can be pretty stupid sometimes, too. She shuts that line of thought down fast.

"Are you saying," McKay eventually quavers, now looking straight at his daughter, "that I'm…that _that…_"

"Is yours?" Sam finishes dryly.

McKay actually gulps, his eyes suddenly enormously huge – almost Asgard-big. "Oh no no no," he mutters, shaking his head. "Just…no. I hate children. They're noisy selfish little bastards who cling on to you and demand to be smothered in attention and - "

"Gee, McKay, that sounds strangely familiar," Sam says with a pointed look.

"I'm not little." He sounds sulky now, in addition to terrified out of his ridiculously brilliant mind.

"No," Sam says, eying his ever-expanding girth, "no, you're not." McKay, clearly thinking she's looking somewhere _below_ his belt, smirks and puffs his chest up a bit, looking disturbingly like some kind of dorky human peacock.

"Why yes, I _am - _"

"McKay," she snaps warningly, and he flushes and moves on quickly.

"Ah. Well. I'm going to be in Atlantis, so how can I -"

Sam sighs in exasperation. "It's going to go like this," she says as her daughter dribbles lovingly on her shoulder. She suddenly realizes the kitchen is ominously quiet, which means her team is probably listening in intently and trying not to laugh, and that makes her voice a little sharper than she means it to be. "You'll go back to Atlantis. You'll come back as often you can without risking disaster and visit your daughter, and in the meantime she'll grow up with a slew of well-muscled nannies spoiling her rotten."

McKay probably should have been at least indignant, but he looks rather relieved. "Right. Right. So, I, uh…" He shuffles around on her doorstep anxiously, and she figures maybe she should have let him in, but she's damn well not going to subject herself to the migraine-inducing scene that would no doubt play out if he came into contact with her slightly-drunken teammates.

Taking pity on him, she sighs and tells him, "Her name is Katie."

"Katie," he repeats slowly. "Okay. Katie."

"D'you want to hold her?"

"Will she slobber on me?"

"McKay, just hold her, all right?" she snaps, and he flushes. She passes her daughter over gently, and he holds the infant awkwardly to his chest, staring down at her like she's an equation he can't quite work his way through. Katie drools a little, still worn out from an earlier McKayesque screaming fit, and McKay somehow manages to look both charmed and grossed out.

Sam's heart starts to feel alarmingly fluttery.

Then he looks up at her and says, "We'd better hope she has my brains and your looks; anything else would be disaster – though I am a very handsome man," and Sam's heart remembers why it never, ever gets fluttery around McKay.

Snickers echo from the kitchen, and Sam counts three well-muscled nannies who just volunteered for diaper duty until the next time McKay comes to visit.


End file.
